


Star Bright

by fadedink



Series: Days of Christmas - 2013 [16]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:22:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadedink/pseuds/fadedink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of peace</p>
            </blockquote>





	Star Bright

**Author's Note:**

> The 16th Day of Christmas for [azewewish](http://azewewish.livejournal.com) because remember what I said last year about how she _always_ asks for Karl/Orlando, even when she doesn't? Yeah, this would be that. ;)

In the wee hours of the night, Legolas slips from the bed to draw back the curtains. Cool moonlight filters into the room, painting silver dust on every surface.

But it's the stars his eyes seek.

He tucks himself into the window, legs curled beneath him on the wide ledge, and looks up at the pinpoints of light. There is a truth there, a beauty in them that no mortal mind can touch, and Legolas savors the darkness and solitude and stark majesty of the starlight.

It's only when Éomer stirs beneath the covers that Legolas turns his attention for the wonders far above him.

"What is it you see up there?" Éomer asks, voice rough with sleep, as he props himself up on one elbow.

"A beauty to compare to yours," Legolas replies as he glides back to the bed.

Éomer just looks at him from beneath lowered brows. "Do not jest."

"Never." And it is no more than truth. Even now, after all these years, Legolas does no more than tell the truth.

There is more silver than gold in Éomer's hair and beard now, lines around his eyes that grow deeper each passing year, but Legolas never sees those things. He does not see the way that Éomer is slower to stand from the throne after a long day, slower to mount his horse.

He only sees the strong warrior first met on the plains of Rohan, far to the north of Meduseld, long years ago. He sees nothing but the pride and defiance and unwavering courage that Éomer demonstrated when facing down a Mirkwood bow.

He still sees the brightness of the stars reflected in Éomer's eyes.

"No jest," he whispers, easing beneath the heavy coverlet and reaching for Éomer. "Not for you, Éomer, King of Rohan."

Éomer laughs softly, his breath stirring the hair that falls against Legolas' throat, and battled callused fingers glide over smooth, naked skin as they come together.

_Never for you, a'mael._


End file.
